Self Exile
by sarhea
Summary: Tired of how she's treated in the wizarding world, even after the war, Hermione decides to make a life for herself in the Muggle world. When Bobby Singer asks for her help she can't refuse and tries to help Sam Winchester. COMPLETE
1. Hermione 1

**Title: **Self-Exile  
**Author: **sarhea  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter, Supernatural  
**Categories:** AU, gen, het, Crossover, xover, romance, drama,  
**Summary: **Tired of how she's treated in the wizarding world, even after the war, Hermione decides to make a life for herself in the Muggle world. She is quickly caught up in something she had never imagined she would be. When Bobby Singer asks for her help she can't refuse and tries to help Sam Winchester. Her efforts go awry, however the unexpected results do have positive effects for Hermione and Sam.  
**Characters/Pairing: **Hermione Granger/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer,  
**Betas:** danger-immn and DelphiPsmith  
**Acknowledgment:** Thank you to my lovely betas, both of you from the bottom of my heart, for agreeing to beta on such short notice and getting back to me with the edited drafts so quickly. Both of you are the best!  
**AN:  
**-Consider this AU to Supernatural as of Season 2 Finale 'All Hell Breaks Loose 1'. Sam is not fatally injured because Dean arrives in time to stop Jake and dies instead, but not for long. Forgive canon inconsistencies since I've only seen a few episodes and this is my first Supernatural fic, ever.  
- Some wizarding society (including so-called 'Light' side) bashing.  
**Warnings:** References to demons, myths, skewed to fit the story. Religious irrelevancies, for plot development purposes.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and co… J.K. Rowling does. I do not own Sam & Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer and co… Eric Kripke, Warner Bros and The CW do.  
**For: **LJ Community hgcrossovers 2011 Fic Exchange – scifichick774, glad you enjoyed this one darling

* * *

Summary: Hermione finds a new place for herself in America. However this doesn't mean she's retired from fighting the good fight against evil.

AN: AU Season 2 Finale Supernatural. Sam is not fatally injured because Dean arrives in time to stop Jake. More AU in the story itself.

**~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~**

**~ooO Self-Exile: Hermione 1 Ooo~**

It was a far cry from the future she had imagined for herself: working for the Ministry of Magic, reforming prejudiced laws and a backward society. At twenty-two Hermione Granger found herself far from home with no way back, living in a world whose magic and ways were as alien to her as her magic and ways were to them.

Oh, she could go back…if she grovelled, admitted she was wrong and they were right, if she bowed her head, ignored her conscience, and did as she was told. But Hermione was not that sort of witch. She had principles, firm beliefs in right and wrong, doing what was right more than what was easy. So she had found herself being pushed out of the Ministry machine, out of the _right_ influential circles. As one of the heroines of the Second Voldemort War she had expected more, hoped for real change. But it had not come. Life returned to status quo, the purebloods and bigots wriggled into positions of influence, the side of Light (as it were) was unwilling to upset the tentative peace. Even Harry!

Hermione had tried but she could clearly foresee the outcomes of any activism attempts. Without a real grassroots movement, and more people willing to take a stand, it would be doomed to fail. So she did what no one would ever expect of the Gryffindor witch: she vanished into the Muggle world. Three years after graduating from Hogwarts, and four years after Voldemort was defeated, she resigned from her position as a Ministry archivist, packed her belongings and walked away without informing anyone. By the time her old friends realised Hermione Granger was missing and went looking, there was no trace of her to be found in Britain.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

"You've got mail."

Hermione picked up her mug of coffee and wandered over to the dining table she used as a research station. It was the largest hard writing surface in the one bedroom flat with its tiny kitchen and tinier shower-only bathroom. She put her mug down carefully and pulled up her e-mail on the laptop. It had been an expensive indulgence when she had first arrived in Muggle America, and a basic necessity when she discovered how to make a living and help people with something she was good at: research.

She scanned the newest message. It was a basic request for how-to-kill from a hunter on her client list. A small furrow creased her brow as she read the description and the basics of the case and witness statements. She remembered reading something similar…She pushed her chair back and walked towards an old-fashioned steamer trunk set flush against the living room wall. A controlled surge of magic and a bit of blood from a pinprick allowed her to unlock and lift the lid.

The trunk was her personal creation, an extension of the beaded evening purse she had used during the Horcrux Hunt. She had gotten the idea from Mad-Eye Moody's trunk. Oh, she could have bought something similar from a wizarding luggage store but Hermione had chosen to enchant and spell the trunk herself, to bind it to her magic and lineage. If she ever had children this trunk and its contents would be part of her magical legacy to them: a magical library nearly unrivalled in its depth and scope.

Once Hermione had decided to leave Wizarding Britain she had set about copying all the books to which she had access. Buying books would have been too expensive and noticeable so she had decided to duplicate them magically. Temporarily lifting the copyright and protection charms was child's play to Hermione, an amateur spellcrafter who enjoyed unravelling spells and creating subtle protections. The trunk contained eighty-five to ninety percent of Hogwarts Restricted Section (Minerva McGonagall was quite sentimental and trusting of a Gryffindor alumna), the general section of the Ministry Archives, and all the books and records she'd had access to while working for the Ministry as an archivist. The only records she'd been unable to copy were those belonging to the Department of Mysteries and private pureblood libraries. But Hermione was certain she had a big chunk of the magical knowledge currently being hoarded and stifled by the Magical Traditionalists of Britain. Although normally Hermione would have fiercely protected authorial copyright, both as an archivist and from her own personal sense of ethics, this knowledge was being illegally kept from those who needed it and had a right to it. The evils of censorship far outweighed the evils of copyright violation. Sometimes the ends really did justify the means.

Hermione could confidently boast that she had one of the best magical libraries in America, though that was an easy claim to make in such a young country. America did not have a central Ministry of Magic like the Old World countries. Its magical enclaves were limited to large cities, and some regions, and the local magicals ignored whatever happened outside their borders. In Hermione's view it was a short-sighted attitude, because trouble brewing a few counties away could easily migrate into your backyard. She had been very surprised to find out most of the dangerous magical creatures outside enclaves were not policed or controlled by magicals. She clearly remembered the night she had met one of her contacts at a local wizarding bar and found this out.

~o~

"Oh yes, I'm quite serious," Mark Carter had said. "That's who's responsible for polishing off Dark Magical creatures outside the enclaves: not magicals but Muggles, using Muggle means and traditional lore."

"Hasn't anyone tried to help these Muggles?" she wanted to know.

Mark frowned slightly. "Demon hunters aren't exactly the most trusting souls. Hell, they don't even trust each other that much!" Mark sipped his warming butterbeer.

Hermione was torn between disgust and horror. "So no one has even tried?"

"I believe the last time a witch or wizard teamed up with a Muggle demon hunter was in the 1800s. His name was Wyatt Earp."

"What about more recently?"

"Modern Muggle demon hunters distrust magic. They often have to fight Muggles who've made deals with demons and other creatures for magic. The females call themselves witches."

Hermione sagged back into the cushions of their private booth. "Oh Merlin!"

"Oh Merlin is right," Mark agreed smartly. "If you were to go up to a Hunter and say that you're a witch and you want to help he'd probably put a bullet in your head. And the sad truth is they're right to be fearful and cautious. Demons specialize in lies and illusions."

Hermione considered the situation. She needed to know more. "Is there any particular way I can make contact with them?"

Mark looked frightened at the very idea. "I'd avoid meeting them in person. Telephone or e-mail is best."

Hermione was not put off by his bald-faced fear. "Do you know how I could try to get in touch with one?"

Surprisingly Mark developed a backbone. "I'm not going to help you get shot! If you want to find a hunter you can do it yourself."

~o~

Hermione had never managed to get a demon hunter contact from Mark but it had not deterred her. Deciding a direct approach would only get guns fired in her direction, she took an indirect stance and set up a 'watering hole' for her targets: an online research and translation service specializing in obscure languages, ancient dialects, mythology, folklore and the occult.

Translating pages scanned from Muggle books was no hardship for Hermione who had learnt a whole class of translation and decoding spells while training to be an Archivist. (If a Russian or Swedish volume needed to be added to the Archives, Hermione had to know exactly what the volume contained and be able to provide a transcribed copy in English for those less skilled in translating spells.) At first her services were primarily used by scholars and graduate students seeking a second opinion on a translation or someone who could understand an obscure dialect. And then she met junkyard-dog online.

He had been searching for lore on dryads, magical creatures that rarely showed themselves to Muggles and were generally not dangerous. She had provided him with the most generic 'common' information she had. But he had come back asking for more, tales where dryads were killers. His request set off alarm bells. Dryads were gentle beings provided they had not been tainted by Dark Magic. Tainted dryads were almost indestructible because they used lethal measures and magic to protect their home tree. Locating and destroying the home tree was never easy. Luckily she had the necessary information in an advanced DADA volume. Junkyard-dog had sputtered and retreated at her blunt request for clarification on the region where the tainted dryads were killing. Twenty hours later he (Hermione was presuming he was male) had come back and grudgingly given her the details. Hermione had narrowed down the possible species, found some methods a Muggle could use to identify the tree, and e-mailed it. Five hours later she had received an e-mail thanking her for the helpful tips and confirming the dryad trees had been cut down, burned and 'purified'.

Two days later the on-line requests for creature/magic lore started trickling in. One or two e-mails a week turned to five a day on average. Most were simple easily-fulfilled requests for Hermione: a name, weaknesses/traits, possible lairs/tracking methods, how to trap/kill/banish. After her experiences at Hogwarts one of the first spells Hermione had created was a cataloguer that magically created an index of any book and added the data to a special Master Index volume. Whenever she needed to research a particular topic the Master Index could be magically filtered to list only references to what Hermione was looking for, like an internet search engine. Hermione still had to locate and read the actual books to check if the information was relevant, but it was much better than going through a whole pile of books to find that only one had what she was looking for.

Under the guidance of junkyard-dog Hermione logged into certain chat-rooms and received access to certain websites. She became well-known in the demon hunter cyber-community. Junkyard-dog was the first to call her KIA-bookwyrm. She had been offended (she was most certainly not killed in action) until he'd explained that KIA was short for know-it-all. It reminded her of Severus Snape; his unkind appellation that had turned into a badge of honour. Everyone in Hogwarts knew Hermione Granger was the one you went to for information. Harry had called her Know-It-All in a gentle teasing manner. Hermione was proud to be a bookworm and a know-it-all. It was reassuring that people in this new world christened her with that cyber handle, with the names that had been hers when she was a child and teenager. She was far from her homeland but the core of her remained unchanged.

She had not planned it but she soon found herself caught up in something she had never imagined possible when she was a Hogwarts student: helping Muggles fight demons and other Dark Magical creatures. It was dangerous, wearying, and thrilling. Hermione had always been the worrier, the one who fretted whether things would go wrong, the one who planned for the worst and hoped for the best. Now she was free from most of those fears thanks to the anonymity of e-mail and cyberspace.

Now, she removed the thick oversized volume containing the Master Index from her trunk and cast a wandless spell to refine its contents. She opened the leather-bound tome and ran her finger down the list of titles. Two in particular stood out. She removed them from her trunk, carried them back to her dining table and sat down in the old-fashioned stuffed armchair she had transfigured from a cheap hard-pine chair and some ragged blankets. Hermione was not fond of uncomfortable seats especially when she was doing extended research or reading.

Forty minutes later she had the information requested. It took fifteen minutes to scan the necessary pages and compose an e-mail summarizing the facts. She sent it off, then glanced at the clock. It was almost time for dinner but she didn't feel like cooking anything.

Oh well, that's what microwave dinners were for…after a hot shower.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Bobby Singer was worried. It was a familiar feeling but one he didn't like. John's boys were going to drive him insane with their hijinks! He was used to boys being silly headstrong idjits but this latest stunt took the cake. Bargaining with a crossroads demon? Crazy stupid fools!

He closed the book he was reading and set it aside. It was the last possible source of information in his library and it had just dried up. He'd already tapped his more trusted sources, all but one. This was personal and he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to bring KIA-bookwyrm into his personal life. He already had enough trouble with his current circle of hunter-friends and demon-lore sources.

Bookwyrm was an academic. Bobby could tell that quite clearly. He wasn't sure what had driven her (he was certain bookwyrm was a lady) to reach out to hunters and sometimes he wondered if she was a trap – a honeypot user – like Bela Talbot. Then just as quickly Bobby would discard the thought. Bookwyrm had never asked for personal details, or even pressed for a name. Bobby was certain she lived in the Chicago area but he hadn't bothered trying to find out more. He didn't want to know more: her name, what she looked like, how old she was, if she had lost loved ones to demons, if she'd stumbled into the supernatural as an adult or a child. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to worry about another human being. He already had more than enough on his plate with Dean and Sam.

But even as Bobby had tried to keep his distance he had failed. Bookwyrm did not push for personal information but she had no hesitation about sending him articles and lore that turned into real leads. He never asked her why she bothered. Hunting and saving folks got in the blood. It was hard to pretend otherwise once you knew the truth.

He opened his e-mail and began composing a message to bookwyrm, asking for information on crossroads demons and deals.

~o~

"You've got mail."

Hermione put down the Arithmancy journal she had picked up in Windy Crescent, the main magical shopping district for the Chicago enclave and walked over to pull up the message. A smile curved her lips when she saw the sender – junkyard-dog – but it faded when she read the contents. Crossroads demon deals. Junkyard-dog was straying into very dangerous territory. Even Dark Lords avoided making demon deals. They always turned sour for the mortal, magical or not.

She hurried over to her trunk library and pulled out all the volumes she had on crossroads demons. Most of the facts were magical, designed to be used by and help magicals, almost nothing that could be used by a Muggle. Chewing on her lower lip she sent off an e-mail with her slim findings, the scans carefully manipulated to hide their magical origins.

She prayed that would be the end of it. But of course it wasn't.

Five hours later she received another e-mail asking for clarifications. It took her more time to compose a reply since most of her references were magical and meant to be used by witches or wizards. She wasn't too happy with the results but she sent it off. There were always deadlines involved when it came to such demons.

Feeling the need to get out of the house she thrust her feet into sneakers and pulled on a windbreaker before arming her wards and locking her front door behind her. She could pick up something to eat after watching whatever was playing in the closest theatre. Hermione was usually comfortable being alone but right now she wanted to be around people.

~o~

Four hours later she returned to her tiny apartment feeling much better after the mindless chick-flick and dinner in her favourite Thai restaurant. She frowned faintly as she opened the door. Her cell phone was ringing. She had been in such a hurry to get out she had forgotten to pick it up before she left. The ringing stopped before she could get to it. She flipped it open and blinked, taken aback by the number of voice messages and unread texts it showed. Deftly she began going through them. A few were from PhDs and Masters students seeking a second opinion on this or that document or theory. Most were from a Bobby Singer. The last one made her stomach twist into knots and churn wildly.

_"Hi, you probably don't know me, we met online…junkyard-dog?" The loud sound of something breaking in the background. "Oh what the hell! Keep it down you idjits!" The man's voice softened perceptibly. "I need your help, bookwyrm. A Hunter I know made a deal with a crossroads demon. He was desperate to save his brother. The brother is still living – not because of anything the demon did, but the demon's holding onto the bargain and is still after his soul. I've exhausted my resources. I need help. I'm sending an e-mail with all the info I've got. If things are as bad as I suspect I'm asking you…no, I'm begging you…pack up any relevant books you've got and come to South Dakota. My name is Bobby Singer and I own Singer Salvage Yard in Sioux Falls. Get back to me as soon as you can. My number is in the e-mail. *Beep*"_

There was a click and the automated female voice of the message service reciting options. Numbly Hermione pressed the key to save the message. She had not exactly hidden her identity online. Most of the hunters using the chat-rooms only knew her by her handle but junkyard-dog had first contacted her through her legitimate online translation services. Her website had her business e-mail, cell phone number, a 1-800 fax number through eFax, and a P.O. box in Minneapolis for those who did not trust e-mail or fax. Junkyard-dog was the one who'd told her to use a different e-mail account and cyber-handle for her business with hunters looking for information. Hunters had always contacted her by e-mail, by anonymous forum, in chat-rooms, or on the rare occasion over the phone. Never in person. Even junkyard-dog – or Bobby Singer, as she supposed she could now call him – had until now preferred to communicate through e-mail or chat-rooms.

Hermione had seen the sense in being anonymous. She had not wanted trouble coming after her. She liked helping hunters, but even better she liked helping from behind the scenes. She'd run around in the frontlines helping Harry, like Batgirl, but being Oracle was more her thing, information the name of her game. She had always told Harry he had a "saving people thing" – she'd never expected it to rub off on her.

But now her carefully constructed wall of distance was cracked and crumbling. If she agreed to Bobby Singer's request she would be sucked back into the front lines. She couldn't help just once and then go back to her quiet safe life. If she couldn't find any hunters that she trusted and who were willing to work with her, she'd probably hunt on her own.

Hermione did not need long to consider her options. Less than fifteen seconds later her books were flying across the room, shrinking and packing themselves into her trunk. She hurried into her bedroom to pack her clothes and belongings into her bottomless backpack. She had no idea how long this would take and if junkyard – no, Bobby – was panicked enough to ask for her personal help it was probably going to be very, _very_ messy.

Ten minutes later she left her flat with her backpack on her back, her laptop and references in a carry-on tote, her trunk on a folding luggage cart. She locked the flat door and took the lift down. Just before exiting the lobby she dropped an envelope containing the keys and a brief note into the superintendent's mailbox. Her rent was paid to the end of the month but she wasn't too concerned about getting a refund.

She purchased a one-way ticket to Sioux Falls at the bus station, then made her way out, dragging her trunk behind her. It would have been quicker to purchase a portkey from one of the enclaves but Hermione needed a little time to research and determine exactly what she was going to tell Bobby Singer about her 'sources'. She found a coffee shop across the street that had Wi-Fi service and purchased an extra large chai latte before opening her laptop and booting it up. She needed to download and review the information from Bobby Singer. Her bus would be leaving in three hours, which should give her enough time. She made a mental note to call Bobby Singer and let him know her estimated arrival time. With any luck she'd have something for him when she arrived in Sioux Falls.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

TBC…

**~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~**

Review, Review, Review


	2. Hermione 2

Summary: Hermione meets Bobby Singer and the Winchester brothers. She tries to help and unfortunately things to awry.

AN: AU Season 2 Finale Supernatural. Sam is not fatally injured because Dean arrives in time to stop Jake and dies instead. Sam makes a crossroads deal to save Dean that goes awry.

**~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~**

**~ooO Self-Exile: Hermione 2 Ooo~**

Sam Winchester was furious with Bobby Singer.

"You told a complete stranger I made a deal with a crossroads demon?" he shouted at the older man.

Bobby went red and yelled right back. "I did it to get you out of this mess, idjit!"

Both of them were ignoring the short curly-haired brunette dressed in stone-washed blue jeans and a charcoal grey wool jacket over a maroon turtleneck top. She waited and watched as the two men yelled at each other until her patience gave out. She picked a metal pot lid and banged it loudly against the stainless steel sink.

The two hunters stopped shouting and turned in her direction. And cringed at her acid expression.

"Are you done yet?" she asked in cool school-marmish tones.

The younger man glared and pointedly looked away, refusing to answer. The older hunter dropped into one of the dining table chairs and picked up his mug of cooling coffee. Hermione Granger had arrived before either man had had a chance to have breakfast; understandable since both had been awake into the wee hours researching and tracking down every scrap of information they could access.

"Sorry, Miz Granger," Bobby mumbled. "I didn't think you'd get here so quickly."

"I didn't, either. In fact I added a few hours to the scheduled arrival time to allow for delays," she responded evenly.

Bobby nodded. A sensible precaution. "Did you have a look at what I sent you?"

She frowned faintly. "I did. And there is information missing." She raised a hand to cut off their protests. "I'm not expecting you to trust me with all your secrets but I can't help unless I have all the facts," she stressed the last word.

Sam still looked sullen. Bobby resigned himself to being the one to repeat the whole bloody mess and opened his mouth to begin, when she dropped a verbal bombshell.

"First of all before, we proceed any further, I have something to tell you. I am a witch."

Bobby Singer was baffled. She was a witch? "But…you drank the holy water and walked through the devil trap in the foyer," he stammered.

"Well, I'm not the same type as the witches you often encounter. My kind avoids them because we know exactly what demons and Dark Arts can do to your soul. But any solution I come up with will probably have a magical component, so if you have any issues with this tell me now and I will walk away. But I strongly suggest you put aside your prejudices because all my research indicates that demon-deals never end well for the mortal."

Her blunt no-nonsense words stirred some interest in Sam. Bobby could only count his blessings that Dean was still sleeping in. He'd probably have peppered Miss Granger with blessed rock salt at the word 'witch'.

"What do you mean you aren't the same type of witch?" Sam asked.

"The witches you encounter are demon-witches. They make bargains with demons for power and influence. By drinking blood or other fluids from the demon they form a familiar-bond, a slave-bond, with the demon and are able to share some of its lesser powers. This allows them to perform inhuman feats. A wand-witch, like me, is born with her power. She develops it through study and practice, usually through apprenticeship or schooling. And yes, there are entire communities of wand users who avoid demons and Muggles – non-magicals – equally. Now, I can give you a whole lesson in history and politics but I think we are short of time?"

Bobby nodded sharply. "What do you need?"

"Something to eat, to start with. A table for my laptop and books. And I need to examine both Mr Winchesters, to determine exactly what happened." Her expression was unyielding on the last point.

Bobby glanced at Sam who inclined his head in agreement.

Her expression softened perceptibly. "When do you want to get started?"

Sam sighed. "Can I eat first?"

"Of course. I'm famished myself."

~o~

After a very substantial breakfast she set up her work station and arranged books in various piles around her. Then she set about ruthlessly extracting every scrap of information from, and conducting a thorough magical examination of, both Sam and Dean (who complied only under much protest). Dean did not trust her but he'd learnt to keep his mouth shut after she hexed him silent for thirty minutes. Bobby Singer focused on going through his own books and contacts. Whichever of the brothers she wasn't interrogating either watched or assisted as asked. Sam took it on himself to keep her fed – he had plenty of experience with losing track of time and not eating due to being so absorbed in a project. Each time she'd smile absently at him, eat the sandwiches and drink a little tea before turning back to whatever book currently had her focus.

It was fourteen hours later, almost midnight, before she managed to piece together what had happened, develop a hypothesis to explain the events, and come up with a possible solution. All four of them were sitting at the kitchen table and drinking the coffee Sam had just brewed. Hermione looked the worse for wear, fatigued with swollen bleary eyes.

"You said Azazel has a claim on Sam, that he bled into Sam's mouth when he was a baby."

The men's expressions tightened. "Yes," Dean answered curtly.

"That might have saved Sam from being bound to the crossroads deal," she explained. "He couldn't sell his soul since Azazel has a claim on it and did not explicitly agree to the deal. You can't get a first mortgage on something that already has a mortgage. And demons generally aren't interested in having second dibs on anything."

"Then what's happening to Sam?" Dean demanded. "Why's he getting weaker? It's like he's dying!"

Hermione's expression tightened. "He isn't bound to the deal, but that doesn't mean he wasn't completely untouched," she corrected sternly. "The deal works by creating an anchor, a link to the mortal's soul…The link could not be completed because of Azazel's prior claim, but it managed to form a partial tie to his soul. That's why he's weakening…his life force is bleeding out."

Dean's eyes widened. "But you said the crossroads demon didn't complete the link."

"It didn't. Sam is bleeding out into the aether, the spiritual plane." She sipped her coffee and rubbed her eyes wearily. "The sudden outpouring of energy must have attracted the attention of certain Higher Powers. The energy signature that healed Dean is distinctly diametrical to those of demons."

The Winchester brothers gawped. "Wait a sec, you mean…do you mean angels?"

Hermione lifted a single brow. "I am surprised you know the meaning of diametrical."

Dean blushed. "Yeah, well, I want to know about angels." His expression brightened. "Hey, if one of them healed me do you think they'd heal Sam?"

Hermione put her mug down with a soft chink. "I never said they were angels, just diametrically opposite to demons." Under the sceptical looks of three hunters she folded. "Oh all right, it was most likely an angelic being…But that doesn't mean anything!"

Sam was confused. "What do you mean? Wouldn't an angel be a good guy?"

Hermione snorted. "Higher beings consider mortals as ants, as grains of sand. If they saved Dean it's because they have plans to use him later on."

"Use me?" Dean wasn't quite sure he liked the sound of that.

"Yes. Angels only have a use for mortals as prophets, martyrs, or avatars. Everyone else is inconsequential. Expendable."

Bobby's expression turned grim. "Girl's got a point. If this angel healed Dean in a blink, why didn't it do the same for Sam?"

Silence fell as everyone considered the implications of the possible answers.

Dean shook himself like a wet dog. "We'll worry about that later. Can you do anything about this life force bleeding? Stitch it up? Or cauterize it somehow?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione sighed. "It's not as easy as you–"

"I know that!" Dean snapped. "Physical wounds are easy to see and treat, it's the rest…" he trailed off with a weary look.

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, her eyes focused on the contents of her mug.

Bobby gave her a few minutes before prodding her for more information. "Hermione, you said you had a possible solution?"

Her eyes darted around the table, falling on each man, before returning to her mug.

"Hermione?" Bobby's voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

She said nothing, reached out to select a shortbread cookie.

Sam studied the young woman who was clearly avoiding eye contact. He had a feeling her solution was not going to be well received. "Hermione, just tell us. Even if it isn't what we want to hear we can't blame you because we couldn't find anything else. And honestly I'd rather be alive than dead," he added jokingly.

Hermione ignored the sounds of protest and denial from Dean and Bobby. "Promise?" she asked softly.

The younger Winchester reached out to cover her hand with his, squeezing it. "Promise," he confirmed.

Hermione nodded and finished off her shortbread, a resolute expression on her face. "All right. We can ignore the link with Azazel: Sam survived this long, he can wait a few weeks more while I research it. What I'm worried about is the bleed-out. Muggles, non-magicals, have a smaller pool of energy and it replenishes itself much slower than in natural-born witches and wizards."

"Don't you have any spell or potion—" Dean fell silent when Hermione hexed him with a glare.

She turned to Sam. "If you were a magical there are techniques to control the outflow, like developing a valve to stop a leak. Unfortunately they can only be used by magicals. It's like being in a constantly meditative state. I can't cast a spell or charm an amulet to do that, not without a fairly strong magical core fuelling the spells day and night," she explained.

"But you said you had a solution." Bobby was impatient for answers.

Hermione nodded. "My suggestion is to complete the bond." That caused an uproar of protest. She waited for a pause but it didn't come, as Dean began accusing first her then Bobby of ulterior motives. Angered she cast a wide-area _Silencio_. She ignored their angry glowering looks and took another sip of coffee. "Sam's life force is bleeding out of an incomplete link. The charms to control or limit the outflow can only be fuelled by a being with a magical core. My suggestion is that we find Sam a suitable magical familiar. The bond can easily be anchored with a familiar and the magic from the familiar can fuel the charms to limit the outflow to manageable levels."

She savoured their shell-shocked expressions as she wandlessly and wordlessly lifted the silencing hex.

"Wait a sec," Dean sputtered. "You mean, you want to get Sammy a black cat?"

Hermione glared at him. "It doesn't have to be a cat. Or black," she corrected primly.

Bobby nodded firmly. "That sounds good to me. Where can we get a familiar for Sammy?"

Hermione grinned. "Sioux Falls has a small magical shopping district. If we can't find anything suitable we can portkey to a city with a bigger enclave. And when I say we I mean Sam and myself _only_!" She fixed the other two with a firm eye. "I don't have time to keep you out of trouble," to Dean, "or do a complete tour of the stores," to Bobby.

Dean's mutinous expression settled at her explanation. "Oh all right."

"And this will have to be tomorrow morning. I'm completely knackered," she admitted as she rose from her chair.

"What time do you want to leave?"

"Nine-thirty at the latest. It shouldn't take too much time to find a suitable creature."

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione was wrong. It took the better part of the morning. Most of the light-oriented creatures in the menageries sensed the demon taint in Sam and shied away. And Hermione was wary of settling for a dark-oriented familiar – there was too much dark magic in this mess already. Finally they found a store selling hybrid Kneazles. A Shadow cat/Kneazle mix took very well to Sam and Hermione pronounced herself satisfied.

Dean had taken one look at the tiny black kitten and laughed until he cried. Socrates, as Sam dubbed his new familiar, did not seem to appreciate being laughed at by an ill-mannered two-legger and promptly clawed Dean. Bobby and Sam watched amused as Hermione set up the ritual circle and runic arrays.

"Familiars are very good at sensing bad intentions," Hermione murmured. "If I'd allowed Crookshanks to do as he wanted when I was in school it would have saved a lot of lives later on."

"Crookshanks?" Sam asked, absently stroking Socrates.

"My cat. He's dead. He was quite old when I got him. He passed away peacefully just before I left Britain. I haven't had the heart to look for a new familiar." Her voice was wistful.

Dean eyed the chalk circles balefully from his spot just inside the door. "Are you sure this is going to work?" He glanced from his brother to Socrates. "I mean, that's an awfully small cat and Sam's an awfully big dude."

"Positive." And Hermione was. "All done." She sat back on her heels and stood up. "Sam doesn't have a magical core to initiate the link with Socrates so I'm going to jump start it." She gestured for Sam to move towards her. "Step into the inner circle," she instructed pointing to the smallest circle, in the centre. It had a diameter of two feet, the middle circle a diameter of three feet, and the outermost one just three inches larger. A series of runes were chalked in a band between the outer two circles.

"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked.

"Just stand there," she ordered. "And hold onto Socrates. Do _not_ cross the line."

Sam obeyed, holding the squirming cat-Kneazle hybrid as she lifted a bowl filled with reddish fluid. She had prepared it ten minutes ago, mixing together various protective herbs and blood from Sam, Socrates and herself. Carefully she used a holly twig to paint the liquid around the smallest inner circle. The moment she closed the circle the red liquid shimmered gold and began to glow softly. Sam held Socrates tighter. He could feel the building power in the room as Hermione chanted first softly then louder in an unknown language. The symbols chalked inside the two outermost circles began to glow, starting with the one at North. Then the one next to it, moving East, then the next, then the next, until finally all the symbols were shimmering. The chant grew louder, Hermione's voice hoarser. Sparks began to rise from the runes, and she used her wand to direct the light and sparks in a spiral around Sam and Socrates. The pressure on him was tangible now. He trembled, trying to keep his stance. There was no room to kneel in the small circle without crossing the glowing line.

Then disaster struck. Socrates bit Sam, Sam yelled and jerked his hand away, and the cat/Kneazle squirmed free, landing lightly on all fours and darting out of the circles before anyone could stop him. Just as the ritual reached its peak.

Hermione cried out and staggered as the now unbalanced energies sought a new anchor and found it. In her. Sam leaped out of the painted circle and managed to catch her before she hit the ground. He ignored Bobby's and Dean's cursing as they chased after Socrates.

"Dang nabbit! We'll have to re-do the whole thing now!" Bobby cursed.

"I don't think so, Bobby." There was a hint of wonder and worry in Sam's voice that made the older hunter stop and look.

"What do you mean, Sammy?"

The youngest Winchester looked up with an awed and slightly embarrassed expression. "The ritual…it's supposed to create a bond, to control the bleed out."

Bobby didn't understand. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, it has. With her."

"Wait…What?"

"_What_?"

Both Bobby and Dean spoke at once, but Dean was considerably louder. He quit chasing the cat and stomped over to his little brother. "What do you mean 'with her,' Sammy?"

"I think we're bonded. I can hear her. In my head," Sam confessed.

Two pairs of eyes widened in shock before they focused on the unconscious British witch.

Bobby sighed. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. Hopefully she'll be able to fix things when she wakes up."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm sure she can. She'd better," he added gloweringly.

Bobby shook his head and ignored him. He was more worried about Sam. The younger Winchester carefully lifted the unconscious young woman, cradling her close…There was something about him, the way he was holding her that set off a niggling feeling in the older hunter. Bobby Singer wasn't quite sure this would be easily or simply resolved.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

Hermione blinked and opened her eyes a crack before squeezing them shut. The dim light set off a throbbing behind her eyeballs. Carefully she set about cataloguing her senses and most recent memories. The ritual to bond Sam and Socrates. The bloody cat jumping out of the circle. The magical backlash. Then she became aware of something else…a concerned warmth in the back of her mind. A sense of urgency drawing closer.

The door opened, framing Sam's broad shoulders and long shaggy hair. The moment their eyes met she could not look away. Her mind spun with flashes of memories, of feelings, of hurts, of joys, of anger, of guilt…everything that shaped Sam Winchester. The bond!

"Yes," he spoke. At her questioning look he confirmed her fears. "The bond."

Hermione panicked. How much did he–

"Pretty much everything. I didn't mean to but it just kept spilling and I couldn't help but See. It took some practice before I managed to set up a rough block. It doesn't stop strong emotions and thoughts, though."

Hermione bit her lip as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, remembering how Harry hadn't been able to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind. Hermione might be a Master Occlumens and years older, but such barriers weren't easily maintained while you were unconscious.

He stepped forward with a hesitant expression. "I'm sorry about this. You were only trying to help me and—"

She raised a hand. "Don't. You didn't plan on this. I didn't either. But now we'll have to find a way to live with it."

That surprised him. "What do you mean? Surely you can undo this."

Hermione shook her head, curls flying wildly. "For magicals, bonds and vows are something that aren't easily broken. Not without losing my magic or killing one – or both – of us. And I don't think you want to die either."

Sam's expression at this news was unreadable. His stance shifted into a clearly guarded pose, arms folded across his chest. "So, what next?" he asked. "Is there anything requiring me to stay close to you?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know," she confessed, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn't help but feel a small pang of hurt at the rejection. He did not want her. No one wanted her.

He must have read her mind because he stepped forward and sat on the bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and drawing her close. "It's nothing like that. Dean and I still have to track down Azazel and it's going to be dangerous and messy."

Hermione was both relieved and irate at his explanation. Relieved for obvious reasons, angry at his insinuation she couldn't take care of herself. Then the angry bubble collapsed. She had been lonely for so long. Ever since the Final Battle. Too many had tried to use her influence and abilities for their own benefit. Potential boyfriends who had vanished when she made it clear she was not going to use her fame to profit. An entire society that was more than happy to lean so heavily on her she nearly broke, a society that expected others to clean up its messes and never pay the costs. While she'd had Harry and Ron she'd pulled through, but after Voldemort was killed it had all fallen apart. Harry had Ginny, and Ron's grief at Fred's death had pulled him away, leaving her behind and alone. They had no use for a bookworm in times of 'peace and prosperity'. Hermione shook herself mentally. At least Sam wasn't blaming her for this. In fact he wasn't expecting her to fight his battles; he was trying to protect her.

Something must have leaked through her Occlumency shields because his grip tightened. "Of course I am! You don't deserve to be a target," his breath caught. "Like Jess."

Hermione turned into him, wrapping both her arms around his torso. "Neither do you!" she insisted fiercely. "I'm not letting you waltz off and face that demon by yourself!"

"Hey! I'm not going to be alone. Dean and Bobby will be with me."

Hermione snorted. "And lots of help they'll be. Azazel _knows_ about them and most likely has planned for them." Her eyes narrowed. "But it doesn't know about me."

"Hermione…" he trailed off warningly.

Hermione ignored him. Serendipity had bonded her to Samuel Winchester just when he was about to confront a truly dangerous enemy. She was no Seer, but if that wasn't a sign she'd eat her pointy black hat.

"Don't bother, Sam. I didn't let Harry run off to hunt down the Horcruxes by himself. I'm not letting you face Azazel without me."

In fact Hermione wasn't certain if she _wanted_ to free them both from the bond; she couldn't deny part of her was happy with the situation. She had been lying to herself all this time…telling herself she preferred the security and distance of research and books. At the core of her being, Hermione Granger was a do-er. And she couldn't think of a better place to do things and save lives than in the heart of the action, standing at the side of a pair of hunters targeted by Evil.

"You're serious about this."

She leaned back to meet his eyes. "As a heart attack." She reached up to push the shaggy bangs out of his eyes. "We'll deal with the bond after Azazel is dead. Until then I'm not letting you cross the road without me," she added firmly.

Sam stared hard at her and saw she was serious. Then he tried to imagine Dean's reaction to this addition – not just a woman but a witch – to their hunts. And he laughed. "If you get Dean to agree, I'm fine with it." And he was. If Hermione Granger could browbeat Dean into compliance she could deal with everything else.

Sam had not expected this fierce unbending soul behind the mild-mannered academic exterior, but now that he could See into her it made perfect sense. Feeling very upbeat about the future Sam began making mental revisions to the Winchesters usual pre-hunt research and preparations. When Dean drove the Impala out of Singer's Salvage Yard for their next hunt to track down Azazel, Sam was certain Hermione would be with them.

~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~

The End.

**~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~oooo~**

AN: I have some ideas for outtakes, but it won't be coming anytime soon.

Review, Review, Review


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